


The Emperor's Son

by ashangel101010



Series: The Imperial Family [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Anytime there is a Sate/Palpatine tag it is one-sided, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Heartbreak, Jealousy, M/M, Male Friendship, Minor Character Death, Parental Sate Pestage, Sly Moore dies, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-20 23:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12443718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: When Rama is born, he becomes Sate's son.





	1. Triclops

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe. 
> 
> I’m going to hurt Sate for a while now. Emotionally, not physically. That’s reserved for Kinman later.

The Emperor’s Son Prologue

*

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- The God of Sleep Has Made His House by Current 93

*

            When Sate Pestage hears his comlink go off, he presumes the Emperor needs him. And he’ll always aid his Emperor. Always.

“Sly Moore?” He furrows his beetle-black brows when he sees the name on the screen. He has not seen the Emperor’s _secretary_ since last New Year Fete Week. He knows that she hasn’t fallen out of the Emperor’s favor or else he would’ve taken care of her by now. The last thing he heard about her was that she was _retiring_ to the Ghost Nebula and that was over six months ago.

 _“Maybe she’s tired of being Queen of the Empire and wanted some R &R. Getting banged every night by the Emperor must’ve worn her out.” _Kinman cruelly remarked and laughed when Sate turned furiously red.

 _“Please, Palpatine would never go for someone as……unusual as her.”_ He recalls retorting back before angrily storming off for his office.

“Moore, why did you comm me?” He hears the crackling sound of static like Moore is in another galaxy.

“ _Get to my manor on Ghost Nebula. I’ve sent you the coordinates._ ” He hears the datapad on his desk ping with a message.

 _Ghost Nebula takes about half a day in hyperspace to reach. I’m not wasting twelve hours for her._ He plans to tell her exactly that.

“ _It’s for Palpatine._ ” He sits right up in his bed.

“ _Hurry_.” Her paper thin voice whispers, and the line goes silent. He slips out from his lavender sheets and quickly dresses.

His Emperor needs him.

*

The fog is thicker than the darkness of Umbara; it roils the dim land like a plague. Sate lands blindly on the coordinates that Moore gave him. He’s happy to hear the clunk of solid ground and not the gnashing teeth of some hidden monster.

He walks down the landing ramp. There’s tension in his limbs, not from the unknown creatures lurking in the fog, but from Moore’s message.

 _“It’s for Palpatine.”_ Those words have almost as much power over him as the Emperor.

 _What’s for Palpatine? Was it a special mission? Was it an ancient Sith relic? Why did she call me? Is it connected to me? Connected to me and Palpatine?_ Between him and the Emperor is…service. He serves Palpatine like the best assistant that he is and gets nothing but the satisfaction of serving such a great man.

He collects such greatness like a jar of moths.

_A spine-chilling smile. A flash of bone-white skin. A whisper of Faustian seduction._

Will Moore break the jar and release all of his moths?

He scoffs.

_I won’t allow…that ghost of a woman to…to—_

He curses when the toe of his booted foot smashes against a stone step in the sea of mist. He is just as blind planetside as he was in the landing, so he had to rely on his sense of touch (and pain) to navigate his way up the winding, ancient steps.

Once he reaches the top, the mist lessens for him to make out the outlines of a crumbling manor. The manor reminds him of abandon mansions in gothic horrors; there is the stereotypical a thousand pointed-arched windows that act more like mirrors into the manor’s evil soul than letting actual light in. There is the dingy gray paint that has peeled after centuries of horrible weather and massacres. It also unnervingly huge enough to suggest that a hundred people could dwell in its strange halls, but there’s really only one occupant.

He makes his way to the door, a wooden monstrosity that needs two ghoulish doorknockers, and is surprised to see it wide open. Like Moore knew he would actually come.

He takes a quick glance inside; he sees the tiny flicker of a candle on a table that is a meter away from the door. He touches the knife he has hidden up his sleeve and goes inside for the same reason he came to this Dark World.

_For Palpatine._

*

The candle, upon closer inspection, is a tealight. Nowadays, tealights are used by religious organizations or as decoration. _Palpatine used to keep his tea pot warm with them when he was a senator; sometimes, he would look up from his datapad to watch the fire consume the tiny white candles. The tiny fires, red and gold like Palpatine’s hair, teased heat into the Tyrian pot._

He takes the tealight and knows that the small flame is like a firefly, only providing enough light for him to see a centimeter in the dark sea.

He moves slowly for he does not know where to go. His eyes dart around, expecting to uncover some hidden danger. Or Moore.

 _Gray are the walls. Gray are the floors. Gray are the cobwebs. Gray, gray, gray everywhere. Just like Moore’s cloaks._ He frowns deeply at the bland color.

 _Palpatine would never…be with her. She’s not his type. She’s not fashionable. She’s bland. She’s not beautiful. She’s cold. She’s quiet. She’s nothing._ But Palpatine entrusted her with something.

 _“It’s for Palpatine.”_ Her voice, like the rattling of brittle bones, fills him with white, hot anger. He wishes that the tealight was a torch and he can just set the entire decrepit manor on fire.

Let the ghost burn in her tomb.

His dark fantasy is cut short by a wail. He nearly drops the tealight when he distinguishes the wail.

 _It’s a baby’s cries!_    

*

He runs towards the cries. His mind reminds him that this could be a trap. _Moore left the door open, left a lit candle, and now, suddenly, there’s a baby crying in this haunted place! This. Is. A. Trap!_

But he’s sprinting, and the cries get louder.

_Those cries are real. Doctored cries have a slight static sound like speakers unable to handle powerful sounds. These cries sound exactly like my baby cousins’ cries! Howling for their first breaths!_

He knows that baby is real, and he’ll save it from her. _Has she gone mad? Is she going to sacrifice that baby? Was that what she meant? Is she going to sacrifice a baby for Palpatine!?_

He reaches the room that is the source of the crying. A gray door separates him from the baby. He goes for the door knob and turns it, happy to hear no resistance. Bright lights blind him for a moment. But only for a moment.

_Oh Force……_

He sees Sly Moore naked on an operating table with a distended belly and legs in stirrups. The baby, the baby whose cries he heard, is right between her outstretched legs. It is coated in thick, red blood and crying; its umbilical cord has not been cut.

_Blood…so much blood. Too much._

Blood is still coming from between Moore’s legs. Far too much for the…the—

“ _Pestage._ ” He finally peels his eyes from the blood and looks up at Moore’s face. Her face is white, whiter than Palpatine’s skin, and lined far more heavily than Palpatine’s. Her lips are cracked like her voice.

“ _He’s Palpatine’s_.” Are her last words. The baby’s cries turn into mournful mewls like an orphaned gualama.

He takes out his knife, goes to the baby, cuts the umbilical cord, and takes the bloodied baby boy to the sink.  

 _The baby needs to be cleaned._ He manages to think again. He turns the handle and waits until the water is lukewarm to wash the baby. The baby squirms as the water cleans him of his—Moore’s blood.

 _White hair like Moore’s. Three green eyes like no one’s. And……_ His heart breaks, but his mouth speaks.

“Oh Force…you have his nose.”

*


	2. Rama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sate brings Palpatine’s son to the Emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe. Rama.
> 
> Folks, if there is a lesson to be gleamed from this chapter, do NOT be a Kinman.

The Emperor’s Son Chapter One

*

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- When I Met You by David Bowie

*

            Sate Pestage is an assassin first; he’s been raised since childhood to be keep his nerves in check. Which is why he did not run the pfassk out of Moore’s manor. It also helps that he has Palpatine’s mutant baby in his arms. A baby that is violently shivering.

 _Clothes! He needs clothes! Where—_ He takes in the rest of room for the first time. Right by the door, there is Moore’s colorless Shadowcloak covering something on the white tiled floor. He picks up the cloak and finds a metal crate filled with diapers, wipes, powder, baby bottles, and infant formula.

 _Did she knew this was going to happen? That she would die just as I arrived here?_ The baby lets out a weak whine, which prompts Sate to immediately grab a diaper and the Shadowcloak. He goes back to the sink and gently lays the baby on the white counter. He then diapers him and wraps him up in Moore’s cloak since he did not see any baby clothes in the crate.

“Are you happy now?” He asks the newborn, and the baby gives him a huge, gummy smile. It takes his breath away just like—

 _Don’t let yourself get attached; he’s………the Emperor’s._ Oh, he feels his broken heart being grounded into the ashes of his romantic dreams.

“Mmph!” The baby lets out a soft cry causing Sate to look down at him. There are tears in the newborn’s emerald eyes.

“Oh no, sweetie, it’s not your fault! It’s just…..” He looks back at Moore’s corpse and then back to the baby. He sighs to finish his sentence. The baby whines again, and Sate realizes that perhaps the baby’s cry earlier was out of hunger, not guilt.

He puts the baby on the counter and goes back to the crate to snatch a bottle and the baby formula. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the bottle is a self-heating one. _At least Moore sprung for the good brand!_

He fills the bottle with tap water from the sink and then mixes in the formula. He only has to shake the bottle to get it to heat up.

“Mmmmph!” The baby cries once more, and Sate picks him up. He presses the nipple of the bottle to the baby’s thin lips. The baby sucks on the nipple eagerly and makes contented noises.

“All you needed was milk, didn’t you, little guy? Once you’re fed, I’ll take you to your…father.” Sate shudders at the future, while the baby finishes feeding.

“Happy?” The baby lets out a small burp and smiles at him again. The misery-laden assistant cannot help but smile in return. _He has a hold over me just like……his father._

He feels like he should resent the baby because this baby is the final nail in the coffin that his love could ever be requited, but he can’t. He can’t help but smile at this little innocent. Because this baby is Palpatine’s.

_He has his nose, his royal nose!_

*

Sate leaves the manor with the crate under one arm and the baby in his other. He does nothing to Moore’s body; he cannot bear to touch the skin that touched Palpatine’s.

By the time he’s back on the ship and prepping it for takeoff, he is hit by a staggering realization.

The Emperor does not know that he has a son.

 _Palpatine does not know that he has a son!_ Sate quickly puts the baby down on the pilot’s seat and takes out his comlink.

 _I……have to tell him. It wouldn’t be right for me to show up and dump the baby in his lap, and then go back to my apartments and drink my misery away. I have to forewarn him and let him figure out what he wants to do with the baby. He’ll probably have assembled a team of nannies by the time we get there._ The baby lets out a low cry like he can _feel_ Sate’s pessimism.

“It’ll be okay.” He tells the baby, but the baby stares owlishly with his green eyes. Waiting for proof.

Sate finally hails the Emperor.

“ _Sate?_ ” Sate freezes with another realization. He did not prepare what he was going to say to the Emperor.

“I…….” His eyes burn once more. “I have your son.”

“ _………_ ”

“Moore died giving birth to him in her manor on Ghost Nebula.” He continues, waiting for the Emperor’s order.

“ _………_ ”

“What are your orders, Emperor?” He leaves out _my_ because Palpatine was never his to begin with. Or ever.

“ _Bring the child to me._ ” The order from the familiar baritone voice makes Sate momentarily less miserable. The Emperor has given him an order, and he must obey.

“Understood, sir.” He turns the comlink off and shoves it back into his pocket. He finally leaves the planet.

As the white stars in the blackness of space stretch into the infinite wonder of hyperspace, the baby begins to cry.

“Oh, hey, no, sweetie, it’ll be fine.” He coos and picks up the crying babe. There are faded tear trails on the baby’s pale face.

“Have you been crying this entire time?” _For me?_ Sate feels a lump forming in his throat. If he talks, he knows he will cry.

The baby looks up at him with tears filling his eyes, making the green in his eyes a watery blue.

“A P-Palpatine blue.” Sate croaks and feels that lump descend onto his stomach like a sucker punch. He slowly crumbles to the floor with the baby in his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And then Sate cries.

*

Darth Sidious made sure that his Apprentince was as far from Coruscant as possible for the next week or so. He did not want Darth Vader to know about the existence of the child. The child that he had no forewarning in the Force about.

 _The child that I never thought I would have!_ Sidious never wanted a child of his own, especially after the failure of Maul. But now he has one.

 _And Moore is the mother! She seemed content playing Creator at Kessel, creating mutants like Trioculus_. He never thought she would be a mother.

 _The mother of my……the child._ But she is dead, so there will be no more children. He is glad for that.

He senses Sate and the child entering the palace. He can feel the misery rolling through Sate’s mind with only brief snatches of happiness. The child may be the source of that happiness.

The child…..he can feel the Force emanating from the child. It is not the burning sun like Anakin or the furious vortex like Vader.

The child is like mist, hiding something that could be terrifying or wondrous.

The child is not dark like him.

The child is a mystery.

He frowns, almost uncertain if that is for the best.  

Sate and the child are now outside his throne room.

 _Let them in, Captain._ He alerts the Royal Guard. The doors are immediately opened.

Sate comes in with the baby swaddled in Moore’s Shadowcloak. Sate’s head is bare of his headscarves, which shows off his grey hair. His maroon robe is wrinkled and the toes of his boots are scuffed. His brown eyes are red and puffy from hours of crying.

Sidious almost rolls his eyes at Sate’s evident heartbreak.

 _There was nothing between us, but scientific curiosity._ He could have told Sate to ease his assassin’s tender heart. But he won’t.

Sate stops at a respectful distance from his throne.

“Your son,” Sidious holds back a sneer. “Has been fed and changed, so he shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Give me the child, Sate.” He orders softly. Sate slightly shivers at his words, and it was not out of lust. Sate subconsciously tightens his grip on the child like he was sincerely considering refusing the order.

But Sate moves towards him and comes close enough to hold out the child. The child twists and fusses in his shaky grip.

 _The child naturally does not want to part from the person that has fed him, clothed him, and…loves him._ That gives Sidious pause.

But he takes the child.

Sate opens his mouth and tell him how to hold the child, but Sidious remembers how to hold a baby. It’s been decades since he held Maul, but he never forgot how to.

And the child does not have clothes-shredding talons like Maul.

“Sate,” Sidious pauses. “Remain outside until I summon you.”

If Sidious had said, _“Leave us.”_ Then Sate would have left, the child would have been given to the Prophets of the Dark Side to be trained as an Eye, and the child would have been named Triclops.

But Sidious did not.

When Sate goes outside and predictably slumps against a wall, Sidious examined the child carefully.

The child was like Maul; his face defined only hours after his birth. And like Maul, there was not much baby fat to make him a cherub.

 _Pale, much paler than Moore, more like me. But the hair color is most certainly Moore’s. The green eyes…I do not know where they come from. Moore’s were electric white, while mine were watery blue._ He turns the child around and is greeted with another eye.

 _Ah, so the child is a mutant. Moore did only knew how to make mutants. If her goal was to make a normal child, she has failed spectacularly._ He turns the child to face him again, paying special care not to irritate the third eye.

 _He has the shape of my face and……my nose._ He frowns deeply.

The child reaches out to him through the Force. Sidious could laugh at the child’s feeble attempts to impart _warmth_ on him. Instead, he is intrigued.

 _He has the Force and has enough…awareness of it. Like Maul._ And then the child’s eyes twist with infant curiosity, which makes Sidious smirk as the child attempts to reach out to him. Instinctually seeking a bond with a fellow like him.

 _How bold! But I’m already bonded to another. And I cannot have him ever know about you._ The Master knows that his Apprentince would be seized with useless jealously. Or, worse, be seized with clingy neediness and bargain for custody of the child.

 _I will not subject the child to Vader._ He has firmly decided.

 _But what shall I do with the child? I could give him to the Prophets and he could become a useful Dark Side servant for me._ A wave of disgust goes through him; that is what Plagueis intended for Maul.

 _If I wanted him to be a servant, then I would have let Sate go. But Sate is my loyal servant and would never turn the child against me. Like Vader would have if he had his own child._ Sidious continues thinking this over for a long time.

While the child smiles prophetically.

*

Sate is hoping that he can stew in his misery in peace. Or at least as much peace can be allowed with the Royal Guards stationed outside the throne room. But he is able to spend a better part of an hour being peacefully miserable.

“Where the pfassk have you been?” Sate looks up and sees the jovial face of Kinman Doriana. The grin on Kinman’s face becomes even wider when he takes in the sorry state that Sate is in.

“Ghost Nebula.” Sate rasps. He can see the gleam of annoying mischief in the younger man’s eyes.

“So you finally decided to confront Moore about who deserved to ride the Emperor’s—” A half-feral growl is torn from Sate’s sore throat. He is seconds from taking the dagger hidden in his sleeve and stabbing Kinman in the knee.

“Moore. Is. Dead.” Sate tersely says. The mischief is wiped from Kinman’s green eyes.

“What?”

“She died giving birth to Pal….the Emperor’s son.” Sate just wants to run back to his apartment, open a bottle or dozen of wine, and drink himself into oblivion.

“……So is the bastard alive?” Kinman asks with wide eyes, anticipating Sate to confess to infanticide. Sate glares at him.

“Yes, and you should not call the Emperor’s son that!” Sate sharply reminds him, which causes Kinman to shrug.

“And you don’t hate the little bastard?” Sate feels his blood pressure rise.

“No. It’s not his fault that he was born!” Kinman hums with an idea.

“You’re clearly attached to the little bas—baby, so the Emperor will give you the kid.” Sate stares at him in utter disbelief. 

“Oh come on, do you really think that Palpatine ever wanted to be a father? If he wanted to, there are systems of women that would happily have his children. Especially that crazy Hapan Queen!” Sate nearly groans at the reminder of last year’s _diplomatic mission_ to Hapes.

“He won’t give up his son! As we speak, he’s already arranged half the child’s life and will tell me to get a contractor to build a nursery!” Sate insists, but Kinman snorts at his naïveté.   

“Sate, think with your head, not with your heart.” Kinman retorts, and Sate seized with the childish urge to flip him off.

“The Emperor has summoned you.” The Captain of the Royal Guard announces and effectively ends the next round of arguments between the Imperial advisors.

Sate immediately gets up and heads back to his Emperor.

*

The Emperor is at the foot of his throne and letting his son play with his white, withered index finger. Sate hopes in his tender heart that the Emperor will order him to have his son’s nursery built as soon as possible.

 _Perhaps, his son will make him happy._ Because Sate wants the Emperor to be happy, even if it is not with him.

“The child is yours, Sate.” The Emperor declares and pulls his finger out of his son’s grasp.

“W-What!?” Sate sputters.

“You shall raise the child as your own.” The Emperor fixes his golden eyes on him, sending shivers down Sate’s spine.

“B-But he’s yours!” _And I know he hates giving up what is rightfully his. Like the Empire._

“Sate.” The assassin feels himself tremble from the impatient chill in the Emperor’s voice. The baby shivers too.

“Y-Yes, sir.” Sate walks towards the Emperor, ready to receive his son. When he is close enough for the reception, fleetingly, he believes that the Emperor will change his mind and pull the baby away. But the Emperor hands him the baby without any lingering touches, while the baby giggles in Sate’s arms.

The Emperor turns away from the new family.

“You have three days to adjust your life around your new son.” Sate looks at the Emperor’s back and waits for the final order.

“You may leave.” And with the final order utter, Sate leaves.  

*

Kinman is waiting for them with excitement dancing in his eyes. Sate considers just kneeing the oaf in the groin and running out of the palace, but he does want to expose his son to violence this early in his life.

 _Son, I have a son now!_ Sate is amazed by this turn of events and is distracted with his fantasies for the future, which gives Kinman an opening.

“I told you that the Emperor would give you the kid. So can I hold the little bas—gift from Shiraya now?” Sate rolls his eyes at Kinman’s childish request. But he gives in because Kinman would never harm the baby. That would require more cruelty than Kinman has.

“Huh, he’s lighter than the average baby.” The baby coos at him, apparently also surprised that Kinman is holding him properly.

“I doubt Moore was eating well.” Sate pins the blame on her for the baby’s less-than-average weight.

“Or maybe he got it from the father?” Kinman cheekily offers; he then goes to touch the baby’s hair.

“Be careful with the back of his head!” Sate warns him. Kinman pulls his hand away from the baby’s head and flips the baby around. Kinman’s lips curl into a Cheshire grin.

“I wonder which side of the family the third eye comes from. Moore’s? Probably hiding it under those ridiculously oversized cloaks.” Sate half-expects Kinman to try and poke the baby’s third eye. Instead, Kinman hands the baby back to him who happily nestles himself in Sate’s arms.

“Aww, he looks so comfy in your arms.” Sate’s attention is focused on the happy, gummy smile on the baby’s face.

“Yeah.”

“Does the baby have a name?” The baby tries to blow spit bubbles, but can only drool.

“Not yet.”

“I’ve got a suggestion.” The baby pauses in his drool to look at Kinman.

“What’s the suggestion?” Sate feels regret enter his mind immediately after he asked the question.

“Triclops.”

*

“Hmm, what shall I name you?” Sate asks aloud as he fills out the baby’s birth certificate. The baby is currently in a wicker picnic basket.

“Not Sheev since your sire hates it when anyone says that name.” The baby bobs his head like he’s agreeing, but Sate believes he’s just bored.

“Not Triclops because then I’ll have to stab myself in the knee!” Which is exactly what Sate did to Kinman.

“Hmm, names usually come from where you’re from. But I don’t know any Umbaran names that would suit you.” _And all the Umbarans I knew were mincing scumbags!_ The baby nods his little head again.

“Hmmmmm, you are also Naboo. So what would be a good Nabooian name?” _Not Kinman! Not Vidar! Not Cosinga! Not Ars! Not Padmé! Force, why do I only recall the names of dead Naboo?_ He lets out a deep sigh and looks back at the baby. The baby giggles like a mad imp, which makes Sate’s tender heart do somersaults.

“You were giggling like that when I stabbed Kinman! I think he cried out some Naboo God. It wasn’t Shiraya. It started with an _R_ and it was ridiculously long. Ugh, all I recall is Rama!” Sate’s dark eyes widen as though he found the answer to all of life’s problems.

 _Rama! Of course, it has less than six letters like Sheev. It’s Naboo. And I can spell it without an accent mark!_ Sate looks back at the baby.

“How about Rama Pestage? Do you like that name, Rama?” The baby gives him the biggest gummy smile that Sate has ever seen from his newly adopted son. His tender heart melts.

“Rama Pestage it is then.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Comments- There are no links this time.
> 
> “When I Met You” by David Bowie I feel like is Sate’s and Palpatine’s song, even though Palpatine is more of a classical, opera Sith, while Sate is more into Radiohead, Bauhaus, and Joy Division. Although, it would mostly be from Sate’s perspective. Seriously, look up the lyrics; I think it’s pretty apt for them. 
> 
> Anyways, the next chapter is going to be about Sate finding a nanny for Rama because the Emperor needs his best assistant back in like three days. And if you’re worried about Kinman, don’t be. This is not the first time he’s been stabbed by Sate. Nor will it be his last.


	3. Jade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sate wants the perfect caretaker for Rama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe.

The Emperor’s Son Chapter Two

**

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- Golden Years by David Bowie

**

            Three days would not be enough time for most people to adjust their lives around a newborn, but Sate Pestage is the best assistant in the Empire. Within two days, he has done the following:

  1. Ordered a crib for Rama.
  2. Ordered baby clothes and blankets for Rama.
  3. Ordered a changing table and baby toys for Rama.
  4. Received orders.
  5. Built the crib.
  6. Got Rama vaccinated.
  7. Informed the family about Rama.
  8. Took holos of Rama for the family.
  9. Sent holos of Rama to the family.
  10. Promised to bring Rama to the next family reunion.
  11. Converted the guest room into a nursery for Rama.
  12. Moved the crib to the nursery.
  13. Moved the crib back to his room for Rama.



However, there was one task that should have been part of the top ten: finding a babysitter for Rama.

He considered for a moment about getting a nanny droid, but his parents never left him with a droid. He was left with his aunts, uncles, cousins, or second cousins when his parents went away for _work_.

And he’s pretty certain Vader must’ve been raised by one, and he does not want Palpatine’s son to be like that brute.

 _Nothing but the best for Rama………so why did I wait until the last minute? I wish I could blame Kinman for this!_ Sate agonizes a minute after the start of the third day. He turns on his side and sees Rama blinking owlishly at him.

 _He’s so cute with his green eyes and fluffy white hair! I waited this long because I didn’t want to share Rama with anyone else. Except for one._ Rama pats his Palpatine nose and giggles madly.

 _Finding and vetting a babysitter before the day is over will be horrible. Almost as horrible as when Amidala danced with my Chancellor. But not nearly as horrible when the Jedi nearly assassinated my Emperor._ Rama utters a small cry like he’s in pain. Sate immediately cuddles his son to his chest.

“Oh, it’s okay, Rama, daddy was remembering some bad stuff. It’s not your fault!” He placates his son who stops fussing.

_Such a good boy. Where does he get it from?_

Sate allows himself to wonder for a moment.

_This is what I will accomplish today: finding the perfect sitter for Rama._

*

It is 1916 on the chronometer in the Pestage living room. Rama is passed out in his crib from his recent feeding. He is snuggling with a purple headscarf that he _snatched_ when Sate was scouring the HoloNet for sitters.

Sate spent his entire morning narrowing his search from well over 10,000 to a 1,000 to a 100 and then to 21.

Perhaps, that was a godsend.

The interviewees would sell themselves well; they had awards, degrees, and decades of experience under their belt when it came to childcare.

But then they would fail the real test: Rama.

Rama would scream at them like he was alone with his mother’s corpse.

Or, he would glare at them like the Emperor, incinerating them with emeralds rather than with gold.

 _There’s only one left._ Sate feels numb after a day of failed interviews, and only looking at Rama’s sleeping face can elicit emotion from him.

 _I’ve failed you Rama; it’s just impossible that the 21 st will do as well as the others. _He is scrolling through the file of the 21st candidate on his datapad and frowns.

_Jade of Epica, 21 standard years, never went to university, newly married, and his entire employment experience comes from working at a daycare in Lower Coruscant. I shouldn’t even consider him, but there’s no one left._

There’s a soft knock on his door.

His chair screeches as he pushes back to get up, but Rama just tightens his hold on the headscarf. Sate smiles at him before schooling his face in blankness.

He peers into the peephole and only sees a badly-stitched reindeer on a green sweater.

He opens the door.

Jade of Epica is tall and gangly like a Galek sapling. He’s also pale like one, which causes his brown freckles to be more pronounced on his fair complexion. Along with his red curls.  His eyes are round like a doe’s and nearly as green as Rama’s. All in all, he is a handsome, young man.

With exceptionally poor taste in fashion.

“Good evening, Mr. Pestage!” His voice is like a fizzyglug, far too bubbly and sugary for one’s health.

“Yes, do come in, Mr. Jade.” Sate moves to let the young man through; he closes the door and prepares himself for another failure. He then leads the young man to the living room where Rama is staring at them.

 _Oh no, it’ll be over before it ever began._ Sate does not know if that too is a godsend.

“Hello, sweetness, sleep well?” Unbidden, Jade goes over to Rama and picks him up from his cradle. Sate prepares his ears for the screaming.

“Mmm!” Rama giggles and waves the headscarf like it’s a flag.

“You must only have sweet dreams because you’re so sweet!” Rama giggles more as Jade’s voice ascends several octaves.

 _Rama……isn’t screaming or glaring at him. He’s giggling like he does with me._ Flames of jealously lick at him, but he smothers them down from years of experience.

“I see Rama is taken with you.”

“And I with him, sir.” Rama giggles when Jade blows air on his cheeks.

_Rama’s not even trying to get out of his arms like a reekcat near water. He’s snuggling up to him…clearly, my son has chosen._

And who was he to ignore his son’s choices?

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Comments- No links this time.
> 
> Epica is actually a real planet in Legends. It comes from James Luceno’s Millennium Falcon, and is described to be a pleasant, mostly ignored planet in the Inner Rim. I was going to go with Colstev, one of the “joke” planets Lucas and Obi-Wan’s alleged homeworld, Stewjon, is also one, but I flipped through my Star Wars: Essential Atlas and came across Epica and I just had to use it. 
> 
> Am I going to spend some time on Jade of Epica from here on out? Not really because this story is not about him. It’s all about Rama and hitting those high and low points of his infancy. I plan for the next one to be about Rama teething since apparently that can happen with babies as young as three months.


	4. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At four months, Rama begins teething.

The Emperor’s Son Chapter Three

***

            Sate Pestage’s mornings begin with Rama. His son’s sweet laugh would play over the monitor, almost defeating the blare of the chrono alarm. He then would clap his hands until he got his _good morning_ kiss. Once fulfilled, Sate would then get Rama ready for his day with Jade, and he would then ready himself for his day with his Emperor.

Rama would beam his gummy smile at him as Sate finish wrapping the last of his head scarves, and Sate would store that smile up for inevitable departure.

Jade would arrive at exactly 0700 with a perpetual smile and an ugly sweater. Rama would flash him a gummy smile, but those green eyes shimmer with sad resignation. No crying, no wailing, no screaming, but Sate’s heart would be bruised all the same until he returned home.

At the Palace, he would think about Rama. He would think of his star-shaped hands. He would think of his moon-kissed skin. He would think of his long nose perfect for kisses. He would sigh often in his office when thinking of Rama, and Kinman would tease him until he saw the gleam of Sate’s dagger.

When his Emperor had no further need of him for the day, he would go directly home and hold back a happy sob when Jade handed him his son. He would kiss the tip of his son’s nose and his son would let out a peal of pure happiness.

Life was going quite well for the Pestage family until one fateful morning of the fourth standard month of the first year of the Galactic Empire…

*

There is no laughter when Sate wakes up; his chrono blares, while Rama is oddly silent. He shoots out of bed without putting on his slippers and runs to his son’s nursery. Rama, in his lavender footy pajamas, is in his crib, but his face is crumpled up in pain like he’s gotten another shot from the doctor.

“Sweetie?” Sate feels his heart race as Rama finally opens his eyes. They are bloodshot and irritated from his silent crying. He scoops his son up and kisses his salty cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” His son mewls with pain and shakes in his hold. _He doesn’t feel hot. Or cold. So what’s the matter?_

“Did you bump your head against the bars?” _If he did, he shouldn’t have been able to feel it because this crib is lined with shock absorption and Gort feathers!_ His son lifts his head from his neck and opens his mouth.

He sees a little, teeny-tiny speck of white poking through the pink gums of his upper mouth. His heart constricts with fear.

“Oh….you’re teething.”

*

The sweet laughter heralding the mornings turn into quiet sniffles of a baby needing his pain medication. Fulfillment becomes appeasement. Gummy smiles become rare. The kisses are cut with consolation instead of pure love.

Whenever Sate sees the Emperor, after suppressing his usual feelings of longing, he is tempted to ask if he could use the Force to eliminate Rama’s pain. But then his mind would lock his heart in an Arkanian stranglehold.  

_Not once has he asked me about his son, let alone what I named him. If it was anyone other than him, then I would believe he doesn’t care a wit for his son. But I know that can’t be the case because he wouldn’t have left Rama in my care. He would’ve shipped him off to be trained as an acolyte or an inquisitor. He entrusted me with his son. I just need to endure for his sake and Rama’s._

So he kept these wretched feelings to himself, stuffing them away like tear-stained tissues into empty wine bottles. But unlike the bottles, he couldn’t toss his feelings into a trash compactor and watch them being crushed into blue dust.

So for five weeks, he bottles away his feelings and endures.

 _“Mmm...ah!”_ Rama weakly cries over the baby monitor, and Sate’s bloodshot eyes look at the chrono. _0400_.

“Please, Rama, just go back to sleep.” He pleads, but his child continues his soft cries. And with a sigh, he pulls himself out of bed to get his teething son and brings him into the kitchen. The overhead lights make his eyes itch, but Rama’s renewed cries distract him. He grabs the medicine bottle from the stainless steel fridge and lets out a groan.

“Poodoo! I was supposed to get a refill after work!!” He bangs his forehead against the cold metal unit.

“Ahhh!” Rama’s distress stops his self-punishment. He looks around for a miracle. His dark eyes see the rose-pink neck of blossom wine. He pulls the neck down with one hand and nearly gapes at how full it is.

_Ever since Rama’s teething began, I haven’t had the time to drink wine. I doubt getting drunk and turning into a heartbroken wreck is the solution……Or maybe I can give some to Rama. Yes, mom always told the family at the reunions about how much of a nightmare I was as a baby until she gave me a thimbleful of Daplona whiskey. I can’t give Rama that much, but maybe a few fingers…_

He brings the wine’s cork to his mouth, quickly pulls it out, and spits the tan cork onto the white floor. He then pulls out a crystal shot glass, a 45th Life day present from Kinman, from the cups’ cabinet and fills it up with the wine. He then sticks two fingers, letting the red coat his pale digits. He brings the fingers to Rama’s mouth.

Rama blinks, but suckles on the tips of the fingers.

A heart flutter later, Rama laughs heartily. Tears prick his dark eyes, but Sate smiles.

“I’ll only give you a little every day, so don’t tell Palpatine.” Rama giggles and wriggles in his hold. Sate raises his son up a little and receives a kiss on his nose.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Comments: No links this time. 
> 
> I don’t think my parents had to use alcohol when I and my sisters were teething, but my dad did tell me that his mom used to rub whiskey on his gums to ease his pain. Considering where he is in his life, it clearly had no adverse effect on him. So I took inspiration for it, but I used blossom wine because Rama is Naboo on his Sire’s side. I really do need to explore his Umbaran side though one day; maybe during his adventure with Maul. If I ever get to that story. 
> 
> The next chapter will most likely have to do with Rama’s first steps. I have a nephew that can’t really talk, but he sure knows how to walk. Or perhaps I’ll have him talk first.


	5. Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sate comes to realize that Rama is not content with doing things by halves.

The Emperor’s Son Chapter Four

****

            Sate jolts from his bed when he hears a  loud thump resonating from the baby monitor; he takes half of his sheets with him as he runs to Rama’s nursery and curses along the way for forgetting his dagger.

He arrives to see nothing amiss in the nursery; there’s no kidnapper, no rogue Jedi out for revenge. It’s just Rama standing in his crib with wide eyes.

 _Rama is standing all by himself! When did he learn to do this!?_ Sate knows that this has to be fairly new since Jade has always told him every little thing about Rama’s day like what they ate, what they watch, what games they played, and even when Rama had a bowel movement.

 _He’s not even eight months and he’s standing! What’s next he’ll be walking–_ Rama takes a step forward, wobbles, and falls on his little tushy. _That’s where the sound was coming from! He was trying to walk!_

And Sate muffles back an effeminate squeal with a fist as Rama tries again to walk. And fails once more.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s–” He glances at the butterfly-shaped chronometer. “0400. It’s far too early for you to be doing this. You should get some sleep.”

Rama narrows his little eyes into two sharp, green daggers; a look that Sate knows all too well from his early years with Senator Palpatine.

 _Palpatine hated being told what to do, even if it was for his own good. Younger me practically cowered when being on the receiving end of that look. However, Rama is a baby, my son. His well-being matters more than his pride._ Sate, with a quick intake of air, lays down the law.

“You will go back to sleep, or there will be no wine!” The fierce Palpatine look is wiped clean off of Rama’s face, and replaced with watery eyes and quivering, thin lips.

“Oh no, Rama, I didn’t mean to scare you!” He quickly scoops up his son and plants a kiss on his nose. Rama giggles, and all is forgiven.  

*

At the palace, a little before noon, Sate is filing away some flimsi-work on the Falleen takeover of Black Sun when his comlink goes off. He notices that it’s from Jade, and his heart begins to race.

 _I told him not to comm unless it’s an emergency, so something’s happened to Rama!_ He quickly answers it and hears nothing pressing in the background like Rama crying or screaming.

“Jade, is anything the matter?” He keeps his tone nice and even in case he has to instruct Jade through an emergency.

 _“I’d comm to let you know that Rama is speaking.”_ Sate feels his heart jump so far into his throat that he cannot speak for a minute.

“W-What’s he said?” _I missed my son’s first words!_ He nearly bemoans.

_“Well, nothing substantial. It’s more like he’s sounding out letters. Like he’s trying to grasp how phonemes work. I know that’s not the same as him saying his first word, but I’d figure to give you a heads up if he suddenly spends a solid hour making noise.”_

“Thank you for the forewarning, Jade. Do keep me posted if anything else develops.”

_“Alright, sir.”_

“You made such a mess over that?” Sate whips around to see Kinman leering at him from the archway.

“I did no such thing!”

“Half of your desk is on the floor, and you have your arse on top of a datapad.” Sate fights back a horrible blush and the urge to send Kinman back to the hospital.

“Any reason you’re here, Kinman?” _Other than to be an asshole._

“I heard a loud racket coming from your office, and I figured that you were having a heart attack. Instead, you lost your poodoo over _your_ son’s sound vomit.” Kinman throws in a look of worry, but his mouth curls into an impish grin.

Sate narrows his eyes in a warning, and Kinman holds his grin but his knees shake.

“Anything else?”

“When your son does begin to talk, I’ll tutor him in Naboo. Free of charge.” Kinman offers like a sprig of starblossom.

“I’ll consider it. Now, leave.” And Kinman scatters like Sate would change his mind and gift him with another scar. Sate shakes his head.

*

A month later Sate comes home from a particularly grueling day of work. His headscarves lay messily atop his head like a monkey-rat’s nest. He rubs at his throat collared purple; the same purple that the ends of his robes once were. Now, they are singed black.

Talking is out of the question for him, and will be until the next morning. At least, not without feeling like he got his throat cut.

So when Jade gives him his daily report on Rama, he just nods and shakes his head when appropriate. And once the energetic sitter left, Sate has his liquid dinner, while Rama has his semi-solids. Afterwards, they adjoin to Rama’s nursery for some after-dinner playtime. Rama has his back to him as he concentrates on buttoning up one of his plasticine Branli’s ball gown.

 _Rama hasn’t tried to sound out a syllable nor stood up. He’s just dressing up his dolls without a sound. Oh no, what if he’s given up? Did I do this?_ Sate buries his face into his hands and pulls at his silver hair.

_This is all my fault! I didn’t encourage him enough, and now he’s resigned himself to being a mute crawler! Maybe I should tell Palpatine about this, so he can help him. But what if he refuses? What if he deems me unworthy and let’s that monster Vader–_

“Daddy.” He looks up and sees Rama facing him. He sees Rama stand up and take a lavender-sock step forward. And then another. And then another. And once more.

“Rama.” He croaks and hoists him up. Rama touches his nose and says the magic word that delivered him from his doubts.   

“Daddy.”

“Yes, I’m your daddy.”

And with joyful tears, he kisses Rama’s nose.  

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Comments- There are no links. 
> 
> Branli, in Legends/EU, is like Star Wars version of Barbie; they even have the same number of letters, six. And plasticine is just the Star Wars version of plastic. Also, don’t expect me to illuminate why Vader attacked Sate; I’ll give bits and pieces in the future, but I don’t want to give a complete picture. Some things are best left up to the imagination. 
> 
> Also, only three chapters left and they’ll deal with these subjects in this order: Rama’s first birthday, Rama’s first day at the palace, and Rama’s first Pestage family reunion.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Comments- Here are the links:
> 
> This wonderful site helped me figure out how long it would take to reach the Ghost Nebula from Coruscant and it took a little more than half a day if the person went at 29 hyper speed, which I don’t know if that’s an impossible speed or slower than the average ship, so let’s say Sate has a very speedy ship: [Link](http://www.swcombine.com/navcomp/)
> 
> For those of you who are starting this series from chronological order, or this is your first time encountering this series, here is an image of Triclops. In Legends/Expanded Universe, Triclops is the biological son of Sly Moore and Emperor Palpatine via a genetic experiment. In Legends, his father gives him to the Prophets of the Dark Side who train him as an Emperor’s Eye. And eventually he disappoints his Dark Side Mad father and becomes a slave in the Kessel Mines. Needless to say, his life continues to get worse and worse after that. However, this is an AU where Palpatine chooses to give him to Sate to raise: [Link](https://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/7/78/Triclops_EGTC.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130913192216)
> 
> Woo-hoo, I finally get to the origin story of how Sate gets Rama. Man, this took forever to write because I just did not know how to set this chapter up since the Wookie gave me scant details surrounding the circumstances of Rama/Triclops’s birth; all I really have is that Sly Moore died giving birth to him on Ghost Nebula and that it was a genetic experiment. So bright side is that Sly and Palpatine didn’t have sex to make Triclops/Rama, but Sate does not know that and just agonizes about that in the next chapter. Also, Palpatine meets his newborn son and has some decisions to make! 
> 
> Also, huge thanks to Darth_Videtur for rp-ing this AU with me because this is quite an interesting AU I’m delving into.


End file.
